


Ingrained

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: They've got more than sexiness in common.





	Ingrained

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous Good Omens Kink Meme fic, prompt: "Crowley/Aziraphale/Bentley... in whatever positioning you prefer."
> 
> Old, old bookverse stuff from 2009 I'm finally getting around to pulling off my old site.

It wasn't that he'd never noticed it before, the near-decadence of Crowley's car. When it was new, he'd thought that Crowley had bought it for the novelty alone; later on, he'd thought the demon had kept it for sentimental reasons, a tangible connection with the past. In reality he suspected Crowley refused to drive anything else because the Bentley was everything Crowley wished to be seen as: sleek, eye-catching, pure class in every line.

It was years after that--and three months after the Bentley had been burned down to the chassis and remade so perfectly even Crowley claimed he couldn't tell the difference--that Aziraphale realized the car and its owner had something else in common.

"Oh," Aziraphale moaned, breathing openmouthed as his cheek skidded on leather, butter-soft. His hands scrabbled for purchase at the edges of the seat, mindful of angelic strength, of his _nails;_ Someone help him if he damaged the upholstery. Just below his own panting cries, he could hear the tick of the cooling engine, the faint squeak of leather and padding as Crowley moved behind him, one knee up on the seat, the other foot braced on the floorboards. The backseat of the Bentley was spacious, but not that spacious. And the entire car smelled of summer heat, the warm scent of grass and leaves and the quiet country lane where they'd parked, of sweat and sex and demon.

"Crowley," he murmured, clenching his hands, turning his face into the upholstery as he was rocked forward, fast and hard. Crowley spent a lot of time in this car, cradled behind the wheel, his will and his presence soaking right into the chrome as he coaxed the Bentley into things its designers hadn't imagined were possible. It was the only explanation he had.

"Aziraphale," Crowley growled, one hand leaving his hip to wrap tightly around him, stroking as erratically as the snap of his hips as they both came hard, nearly in unison. The first time there'd been Aziraphale's shirt underneath him to catch the mess, but Crowley had quickly changed his mind, purred once that he _liked_ the smell of angel wrapping around him as he drove.

It was hard to turn over properly without dislodging Crowley from the seat entirely, but he managed, pulling Crowley down on top of him once he was settled.

Nuzzling into Crowley's neck, Aziraphale sighed, listening to the whir and zip of insects outside and absently licking the sweat from Crowley's skin.

It had to be how much time Crowley spent behind the wheel. There was no other reason for Crowley to smell just faintly of steel, of well-cared-for leather, the way the Bentley smelled overwhelmingly of him.


End file.
